Your Warmth
by Roronoa Emi
Summary: A oneshot about the Blakeneys during a return trip by Percy back to England. A little sad but also fluffy. HRH takes the ladies for a turn around his gardens and loses to Percy at hazard, and aristos are saved.;) The usual.


So I've had a little time and decided to finish this. Just everyday sort of emotions and goings-on without having to run away from cunning (and sexy) French spies (like Chauvelin). *does a little dance* Hope you enjoy. Please let me know if you do. No comment is too small. ^w^

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><p>He sat on the window-seat, staring out into the moonlit night. A soft voice called to him from the darkness.<p>

"Percy, come to bed."

He smiled and adopting his foppish drawl, answered playfully, "Sleep in the same bed as my wife? Zounds m'dear, what would the servants say? It's nothin' short of scandalous!"

She laughed and imagined the look of feigned shock on his face. Ah, that sweet musical laugh that was so individually hers. He came to sit on the edge of the bed and stroked her cheek fondly, the moonlight that shone through the windows casting a ghostly light on her lovely face.

He wanted to be scandalous.

She took his hand in hers and gazed into his pale eyes affectionately. "Oh Percy, I don't care _what_ happens, just as long as you're with me."

"Well, my dear," he said just above a whisper, "not even the devil himself could tear me from your side." And bending down he pressed his lips to hers in a soft but passionate kiss.

Sunlight streamed in through the open curtains, lighting the bedroom. Clothing littered the floor, proof of the Blakeneys' love. Percy lay with the bed-sheets half across his chest, one arm under his head, and the other wrapped tightly around the sleeping form of his Madonna. She was snuggled in under his shoulder, her head lying on his chest. Reddish-blond curls lay in a halo around her head, tickling his skin. He stroked them fondly, content merely to watch over her as she slept. She looked so peaceful. He could stay with her like this all morning, but he knew they must make an appearance at HRH the Prince of Wales' garden party that afternoon.

_After all,_ he thought with a wry smile, _what else is there to do in life but attend courtly functions and lose money at cards, eh?_

His smile turned warm as he gazed at his Margot once more. Reluctantly, he woke her.

"I don't deserve you, my love," he whispered as he kissed her forehead. She stirred and large eyes, half-lidded and full of sleep, stared into his. So blue, he was instantly lost in their depths.

"Percy," she mumbled with a smile. "To sleep in your arms is pure bliss. I have not slept so well since you were last home." A pang of guilt shot through him. He had been gone for nearly two months, living with Lord Anthony Dewhurst in a rundown inn on the outskirts of Paris. They had set out together on a particularly important mission that had all but cost them their lives.

Colette Bouvier was the daughter of a ci-devant count and had married a young lawyer in hopes of preserving some dignity in the face of utter ruin. She was cold and bitter towards her husband during the first years of their union but after the death of her father, love began to blossom between the two. The loss of her final familial relation was a terrible shock. It was also the turning point for her marriage. The affection and support shown her by a husband so previously shunned had brought forth a wellspring of love for him. The two became nigh inseparable, and rejoiced in the birth of a son not long after. Therefore, it was a terrible blow to Colette when her husband, Jean-Paul, was arrested for treason. He was a member of the Girondin club. He and many of his comrades were seen as "enemies of the democracy" by the Jacobins for their moderate views and summarily sentenced to death. He had been a great proponent of leniency towards the deposed aristocracy and had even voiced his support in sparing the lives of the royal family. He had hated what the revolution was becoming and tried desperately to stop it from spiraling out of control. To him, all life was precious and the People's violent acts of murder made the revolutionaries no better than the "aristos" they had conquered. He had been guillotined for his efforts. Colette, alone and afraid for herself and her son, had tried to slip out of Paris soon after. They had both been recognized and arrested. The League had a great admiration for Bouvier's efforts, his courage and humanity, but had been unable to save him. Sir Percy was determined to prevent his wife and child from suffering the same fate.

It had been a tricky job getting Madame Bouvier and her son, Benoît, out of the clutches of the Parisian mob. They had snatched the two from the very shadow of the guillotine, lucky to have gotten so close. Chauvelin had been especially cunning and had foiled their plans more than once. Things had been so tight after the rescue that the two Englishmen had been forced to stay on an extra fortnight, their charges hidden away in the house of a loyal friend before they were able to smuggle them out.

Percy had returned home exhausted and foot-sore from the journey but, as always, never let on a hint of his fatigue. He arrived late in the afternoon, to the surprise and overwhelming joy of his wife, and the two had locked themselves in his rooms. It had been glorious to see her again after so long. He remembered now how difficult it was for her to be separated from him, "left alone to worry" as she had once said. He looked at her with a melancholy smile, his hand tracing the outline of her face.

"I am sorry for being gone so long, dear heart. I know it was even harder on you that I was unable to write." She had looked down when he mentioned his absence.

"When are you leaving again?" she asked, absently tracing circles on his chest with a finger.

"I was to return in three days," her eyes shot to his, large and suddenly tearful. His heart clenched in his chest. He couldn't bear to see her upset. Wrapping her in his arms he kissed her softly, trying to sooth her and spoke quickly, happiness prevalent in his voice. "Margot, wait, listen to me. Since this last voyage took so much longer than expected, Tony and I will stay behind for a few months. Andrew will be heading up operations in the interim and I have full confidence in him and the rest of the League to carry out my plans in our absence."

"A few months!" She inhaled gleefully, pulling back to look into his face. "Oh Percy, that's wonderful!" His laugh echoed through the bedchamber, long and deep and rolling.

"I heartily agree darling," he said as he placed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "And I intend to spend every moment with you."

xxx

It is to be mentioned that the Blakeneys arrived at the Prince's function fashionably late that afternoon. Sir Percy looked dashing as ever in a beautifully embroidered French-blue suit and was shadowed only by the radiance of his Marguerite in a flattering rose-colored dress, her gloved hand laid delicately but lovingly on his arm. Sir Andrew and Lady Ffoulkes were present as well, giving the men time to discuss league matters and the ladies to exchange secrets and bits of gossip. My Lord Tony made an appearance as the chief and his lieutenant were getting down to business and, having been told to go off and enjoy himself, swept Marguerite and Suzanne away, one on each arm, followed by the amused and slightly jealous eyes of their husbands.

"I'm glad you decided to stay back, Percy," Sir Andrew said to his friend and chief. "Goodness knows you deserve it."

"I am as well," He replied with a smile. "It is so good to see her again Andrew. It feels as though it's been years. Though I don't think your Suzanne is very happy about it. I am sorry for pulling you away from her."

"She knows that I have a commitment to the league, just as Marguerite does. We will miss each other but we both know it's for the good of the cause. And besides, I've had more time here in England then you have. In fact, I believe the League as a whole has too. If you should feel sorry for anyone, it should be for Marguerite."

"Yes… yes I know," Percy said with a sigh. "It isn't fair to her that I'm gone more than the rest of you fellows but I…"

"I know, old chap. And I'd feel the same way in your place." Sir Andrew gave his friend's arm a reassuring squeeze then looked out across the gardens. "Well look at that, there goes young Tony with our wives."

"Haha. That rascal. I shall have to box his ear next time he comes near enough."

"It's about time he gets his own wife. Bad form that," Sir Andrew agreed with a good-natured chuckle.

"And what's bad form gentlemen?" came a voice from behind them.

"Ah! Your highness," drawled Sir Percy with a bow, quickly putting on his foppish air. "I was just discussin' with Sir Andrew how young Dewhurst has stolen away our wives for a promenade 'round your lovely gardens."

"He's quick, that one," said the Prince with a laugh. "And he has impeccable taste. I was about to come and do the same thing myself. You don't mind if I claim the next turn with your lady, do you Blakeney?"

"You do us a great honour, sir," he replied with another bow. "Perhaps a game of hazard later, sir?"

"Yes yes yes, that would be splendid," the Prince said with an eagre smile. "Will you join us Sir Andrew?"

"I am afraid I must decline, your highness. I am leaving on business tomorrow and therefore wish to spend my last hours before the voyage with my wife."

"Ah, I understand. Do give my best to Lady Ffoulkes."

"Thank you sir, I will."

The three men stood and chatted about politics and the latest boxing match while Tony and the women made their way back towards the small hill where they had left their husbands talking. It wasn't long before the two groups were reunited. Marguerite and Suzanne curtsied for the Prince, and Lord Tony relinquished his hold of Lady Blakeney to his royal highness and Lady Ffoulkes to her husband. He then took up his place next to Sir Percy and the two watched the goings-on of the party while discussing the next expedition to France.

The Prince returned in high spirits half an hour later, left Lady Blakeney in the care of my Lord Tony once more and went off with Sir Percy to the card tables. The rest of the afternoon passed swiftly.

"You have the devil's own luck, Blakeney," the Prince said sullenly as they finished their final game.

"My apologies, highness," Sir Percy drawled. "I should've warned you beforehand that I was feelin' rather lucky today."

"You're always lucky Blakeney. Demmed if I know why." Percy laughed his shy, inane laugh as he and the Prince rejoined the other partygoers. They talked and laughed with other members of the court and seemed to be enjoying themselves. But all Percy could think of was his Marguerite. They would see each other sometimes from across the garden, he in one group and she in another. It kept him completely distracted as few other things could. The Prince even caught him staring once but Percy managed to laugh it off as nothing.

It was early evening when the Prince's group broke up and Percy had to keep himself from rushing to his wife's side.

"Appearances and all, old boy," he reminded himself with a sigh. He bowed to the Prince, nodded a silent farewell across the lawn to Sir Andrew, then strolled nonchalantly to the group of ladies Marguerite was no doubt at the center of.

"Good evenin' ladies," he said with a low bow.

"Good evening Sir Percy," they chimed in response, hushed giggles following the greeting. Blakeney may have been the Prince's close friend and the leader of fashion in London, but he was still a fool. Even so, he was instantly accepted into their group. He nodded and smiled at every woman present, joining in occasionally on the conversation and laughing inanely at each comment or quip. None of them noticed the fire burning behind his lazy, half-closed lids as he stole furtive glances at the holder of his heart. She in turn conversed and laughed along with the group, an occasional blush tinting her cheeks as their eyes met.

"My sincerest apologies ladies," Sir Percy said at last, "but I fear I must deprive you of my wife's charming company." Goodbyes were said as she took his proffered hand and the two walked to their carriage.

xxx

The sun was low in the sky when Sir Percy Blakeney and his lady reached their estate in Richmond. He descended, and then turned to help her alight. But instead of taking her hand he lifted her from the seat as if she weighed nothing and pulled her into a close embrace. It was quick and sweet but sent a flash of warmth through them both. He kissed her cheek behind the veil of her hair then he set her down gently. It was unlike him to show such a public display of affection, but the servants had been dismissed and only a groom stood opposite them holding the horses' reins.

"The Prince and Lord Tony have had the pleasure of your company today. May I also have the honor of escorting you across the grounds?" She smiled up at him, such a beautiful, radiant smile, the evening sun catching her golden hair, and his breath caught in his chest.

"That would be lovely."

They walked through the gardens at the rear of their estate. It was early summer and the flowers were in full bloom. The weather had been over-warm at the party but now it was perfect. Marguerite breathed in the sweet scent of late roses and sighed happily, snuggling her head into Percy's shoulder as they walked.

"Mon cœur," he whispered in her ear, "I have something to show you."

Leaving the gardens, he led her across the lawn to a line of trees. It was a secluded place, a fair distance from the main building and located away from the road. Some little way in there was an arbour. It was made of a rich dark wood and covered completely with clematis, purple blooms scenting the air. The ground had been set with smooth grey stone and a matching bench sat along one side. Marguerite's eyes grew wide at the sight of it and she stepped away from her husband to come fully under its shade.

"Oh Percy, it's wonderful!" she said at last, bursting with happiness.

"It's yours," he said. She turned to him, confusion replacing her smile.

"What?"

Two steps and he was standing before her; a quick movement and she was in his arms.

"It's yours," he repeated with a soft smile. "To use whenever you wish. I have ordered the grounds keeper to see to its upkeep but everyone in the house is to otherwise leave it empty for your use. You shall not be disturbed here."

She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes, arms holding him tightly. He kissed her gently, a thumb rubbing slow circles on her cheek.

"Thank you, Percy," she whispered. "I…I don't know what else to say. When did you…?"

"Before my last trip over to France. It's been here for some time but was in sore need of repair." He looked at the bench, a sad smile coming over his face. "It once belonged to my mother." When he looked back at her all sadness was gone, only love remaining in his eyes. "Now it belongs to you."

Marguerite said nothing but her eyes spoke volumes. Flinging herself against him she buried her face in his chest to hide the tears that could not be held back; tears that stemmed from his thoughtfulness of her lonely days without him but also that he would continue to leave her again so utterly alone. He left her like that for a moment then slowly moved them both over to the bench. He sat and arranged her in his lap like a child. He could not have said what he felt at that moment. It seemed a flurry of emotions. But he focused on the feeling of being whole as he held her close, their hearts beating as one. He let her cry, though it pained him to see her do so, and ran his hand over her waves of red-gold hair to comfort them both.

Her tears soon subsided and she seemed content to lay against his chest, held by those same arms that had carried her weary and sore body all the way from the Pére Blanchard's hut to his yacht, and thence to freedom. But she knew he must also be tired from the events of the day and reluctantly pushed away from him to sit up. Grabbing her shoulders gently, he turned her to look at him. He scanned her face, taking in every minute detail of the woman he loved. Then he began to kiss her tears away. He kissed her still-wet eyelashes, her cheeks, the elegant slope of her nose, and her gently rounded chin. Then he kissed her lips somberly, chastely, as if in worship. And truly he was, for this woman was his goddess. But the throne where she sat was no longer an obscure, unreachable place as it had been during their estrangement. No. Now it was firmly entrenched in his own heart.

His kiss did not last long before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him in as close as she could. He chuckled against her lips, reveling in the fiery beauty that was his wife, his Margot. He helped her to stand then bowed low to kiss her dainty gloved hand. Smiling warmly, she placed her arm through his and they walked side by side to the house. Once inside, she guided him along and he did not protest when they entered the same suite of rooms. And for the rest of the evening she made the daring adventurer forget everything but her.

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><p>Again, hope you liked. I'd love to know what you thought. :3 -RE<p> 


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